Stop Me If You Think That You've Heard This One Before
by PoisonChocolateCake
Summary: Stiles has been hiding out and lost touch with most of the pack. But it isn't as if he needs to get a groove back...It wasn't as though Stiles was unhappy. Things always change, afterall. He had his job at the library, and miraculously his Jeep and his Dad were still ticking along.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't as though Stiles was unhappy. Things always change, afterall. He had his job at the library, and miraculously his Jeep and his Dad were still ticking along. He didn't see Scott as much as he used to, of course, but that would probably change when baby number three started sleeping through the night.

Most of his old pack had picked up and moved away from Beacon Hills ages ago. Kira and Malia send an elaborate Christmas card from San Francisco every year, this year they had engaged in partners yoga while wearing ugly Christmas sweaters in front of the Golden Gate bridge. Boyd and Erica lived next to Lydia in some monstrously yuppie gated community, so they usually sent greeting via a video card that would manage to survey the newest additions to their houses. That's how it goes.

Stiles had gone to quite a few parties when he'd been working through his degree, but his taste for warm beer out of red solo cups and awkward shouted conversations had slowly worn off until he found himself staying and watching the Colbert Report more often than not. Which was fine.

Stanford had been a bright spot, but then his dad's heart had nearly given out during the middle of a stake-out, and his pension had been hardly enough to keep the house. Stiles had moved back into his boyhood room to supervise the acceptance of casseroles from friendly neighbors, and then switched to online courses and just…stayed.

He'd managed to wrangle an office in the town archives where people rarely bothered him. Stiles could pore over supernatural artifacts all he wanted, he was totally absorbed in his work. There was an intricate filing system in place even, that actually took place in actual file folders.

Which is why it had been very upsetting when one morning, Derek Hale, last seen loping into the sunset in Mexico ten years ago, had made his large wolfy self at home on top of that filing cabinet.

Stiles was slouching into his office at 730, gulping down his coffee, let out a wail and a flail that felt weirdly foreign to his limbs, which was the only reason he ended up in a heap on the floor in front of his filing cabinet.

"You!" he accused the intruder. The intruder replied by tilting his head to side, and dropping a large bone onto Stiles' beautifully arranged desk. Stiles wailed. "My files!" The rude dog responding by whining in amusement.

Well. Stiles was a mature adult who didn't need to conduct conversations from the floor. He raised himself into his comfortable (and very expensive) desk chair, downed the rest of his coffee, thumped his coffee cup down on his desk with manly emphasis, and crossed his arms.

This was the stance of a man who could wait for answers. A man who had never spared another thought for tall dark handsome men who loped into sunsets accompanied by leggy assassins. Many leggy assassins, if Lydia was to be believed.

The wolf rolled his eyes, (of course) and gracefully hopped down from his perch, while simultaneously stretching out human hands above his now human head. Derek stretched with athletic enthusiasm, and let out a satisfied noise as his spine popped a little. Stiles stared slackjawed at the expanse of new tattoos and occasional scars decorating a torso that was still chiseled in a way that spoke of hard fights and long nights rather than dull hours sculpting muscles in a gym, covered in far more hair that led down to… Stiles averted his eyes.

"Yoga" said a voice sagely. Gripping tight to his new, expensive desk chair Stiles snapped his mouth shut and attempted to convey with his glare that naked wolves were not welcome to barge into his office, disarrange his research and toss bones everywhere.

"…and meditation practice of course" Derek nodded serenely, seating himself crosslegged on the floor. "That's how you get used to stretching your body like that."

"Um" said Stiles. He stared down at his own legs. They weren't all that flexible or long, he reflected sadly.

"I'll tell you all about it when there's time of course." Derek gestured at his dinner bones, in a pile on top of Stiles' filing cabinet. "I really need some help with figuring all this out first."

"Dinner?"

Derek beamed.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles waved at the pile of bones on his desk. "What's so funny about this pile of bones anyways?", he demanded.

Derek drooped, Stiles noticed, but Stiles felt a rant coming on, and he felt he had the right to enjoy it.

"No nice to see you too? Didn't care enough to bring CLOTHES?" Stiles jumped up and started to pace, waving his arms around. It felt good, if a bit immature to let it out. Flailing like this might upset his research. And Derek was still sitting his bare ass of Stiles' hard won office floor. Fortunately Stiles had an emergency blanket in his emergency pack . That was for human emergencies like earthquakes and fires. He threw said grey scratchy blanket at Derek, and hoped it scratched him mightily.

Derek stared, and his eyebrows started to do their old familiar thing, before his face cleared and he stood up to arrange the blanket around him in a toga-like fashion.

"So… dinner?", asked Derek. "Do you think around seven o'clock would be good?"

Stiles relented. "Fine. Just go. And you're paying."

He had no intention of doing anything other than showing Derek how to use google, but whatever. The man needed to leave is what's important.

Derek laughed, low and quiet. He stepped closer to Stiles. "Of course", he smiled. Stiles took a step backwards.

"I'll come get you at your house," Derek grinned. Stiles was unfairly distracted by Derek's new found range of facial expressions, so he reacted too slow to Derek reaching for a strand of his hair that was sticking up from the glasses he'd had to start wearing. Now it seemed like his face was being … petted.

"…and I really like your hair like this way," he murmured, bringing his face even closer to Stiles' face. With another step backwards, Stiles realized that he had been backed up against his own filing cabinet, in his own office. Well, beats wall slamming when Derek wanted something, but still…

"…unacceptable! Inappropriate!" snapped Stiles, and reached behind him for the bones, which he shoved into Derek's chest. Huh. Someone had written in Elder Futhark on what should have been oracle bones. Pointless.

Derek was still staring at him, but with a bit of a smile. Well, looks like he'd gone from being full of grumpiness to full of ridiculousness. Yoga. Honestly.

"Ok then." Derek picked up his bones and stared at them sadly. "So, your house at seven?"

"No, I should be about finished up here by then. I mean, if I manage to catch up on everything I had planned to do today after you…"

There was a knock at his office door, and the front desk girl, Isabel or Anabel or something came sailing in.

"I've got all your mail here… no package came in today but let me tell you our Fed Ex guy is … wow…", she trailed off uncertainly, staring at Derek's manly, bone-laden self. Derek, who was directing a weirdly familiar grin at Isabel.

"Hi! I'm Derek." He stuck out a hand expectantly, and Isabel delicately placed her well-manicured hand in his paw. "I'm an old friend of Stiles'. And you are?"

Isabel's expression cleared abruptly. "OH! I didn't know Stiles was in a frat. My older brother's brothers do this kind of thing sometimes." She smiled conspiratorially, and Derek's beaming smile was back in place. "Well I suppose I had better get back to work. Work, work, work around here! Not like I saw anything else!"

And then appallingly, she _winked_. Stiles cleared his throat, with meaning. Derek gave him a jaunty wave. "Well I guess ah, that's accomplished. I'll just see you later."

And then Derek and his pointless artifacts at last removed themselves from Stiles' office. Isabel stayed and grinned at him. It was weird, like she might try to talk to him. Stiles frowned, and Isabel turned on her heel and marched out, shutting the door behind her.

Stiles could hear voices going down the hall, and was appalled. People didn't appreciate that he had work to do around here, unlike some people.

(Ten years before.)

Stiles was hovering a few inches off the ground. The sea monster flopped its tentacles angrily, since various werewolves were attacking various parts of its body. A stray tentacle smacked Stiles in the head and he found himself sailing, and then plunging under the water. The view from down there was pretty interesting, thought Stiles, and he glared upwards at the roiling sea water and various werewolves.

One of which was careening towards him with a look of extreme panic. Stiles tried to wave his arms to stop this, but again found himself tackled and being brought to the surface at a wolfy speed.

Everything went dark.

He woke up in the hospital. Stiles shut his eyes again. Then opened them slowly. Still in the hospital. That was his Dad's face coming into focus above him.

Oh shit.

"We know everything about the magic, Stiles."

And his dad didn't even look angry. Just disappointed.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles worked very hard.

He had always worked very hard. Even when things went wrong, books were always there for him. Something that would always be there for him, something where he could always ask for more more more of, and nobody wondered why, something that usually even gave back as much as he put in, yes Stiles loved his work.

"If you love the library so much why don't you just marry it?" Scott had probably been just joking with Stiles, laughing at his enthusiasm for burying himself in work.

Stiles had tried dating a nice guy once, in second year at Stanford. Freshman year he had ah, been more adventurous, but then realized people expected you to try to be someone's boyfriend.

That and Scott was getting tired of burly strangers watching him drink coffee in the mornings.

People settle down. It's what they do. So he went after the nicest, nearest to his league, lacrosse playing dude, that Scott knew. And to his surprise, it worked. Greg was kind and decent, and had never talked to him again after a were-Moose had Moosed down onto campus all the way from Canada during midterms and caused a shocking amount of disruption.

One little magical fountain of wolf pee (Stiles had gotten the idea from a gardening manual) appearing at the edge of campus and near to the shore, but also, near to Stiles' person and sweet kind Greg, who would sing along to Taylor Swift with Stiles in his jeep, had just stopped returning his texts.

Ok, maybe it hadn't been just the one magic incident. Whatever. Stiles could shake, shake it off.

When Stiles had woken up in the hospital, there had been no one there but his dad and Deaton. Judging him with their serious eyes. No amount of "I feel fine!" had convinced his dad, and none of it would convince Deaton. Deaton had levitated a little bit off the ground he was so annoyed.

But hey, Stiles was just human after all.

And magic was magic in the end. Magic needed a big container to burn through, or to burn bright within, or burn up, or in the case of the Nemeton, sort of just wriggle out like tentacles. A magician though, was always alight with the fire of the world.

And Stiles knew his limits.

These were the types of thoughts going through his head as he drove himself home to find a dejected looking Derek sitting on his front steps.

"What?" he asked, with his usual and beautiful tact. "It's only eight."

Derek glared at him and thrust a daffodil towards his chest.

Stiles suddenly began to rethink the events of the day.

"Ok. That's a daffodil."

Derek grunted.

"And you came to get me for dinner ...here. I don't know what to say. I already ate." Stiles had just sort of assumed he would be grabbed and dragged whenever, wherever Derek wanted him, so he'd microwaved a hot pocket at work.

A weird thing happened then, instead of grunting and grumbling and bickering with pathos, Derek looked up at Stiles with what he probably believed was a sincere smile. "My apologies. But do you always stay at the library that late?"

"I stay at the office until my work is done. And I like my work."

Stiles paused.

"You work too much."

Oh hell no.

"Excuse me?"

"Well you just seem a bit duller, you don't smell…I mean, I'm concerned about you drawing positive energy into your life." This new age nonsense was said in a sincere tone, and Derek moved to grasp Stiles' arm, and stare earnestly into his eyes.

Ripping his arm free, Stiles felt his face grow hot and became very aware of his pulse and his breathing. He would not have a child sized temper tantrum. He would not. His dad was just inside the house, even if he was probably absorbed in ESPN.

Deep breaths. Count to ten.

"Fuck you, you fucking fuck. Don't fucking tell me what to do."

An eye roll! Victory over the Stepford Derek at last.

"And at least work is always there for me, unlike some …."

But Derek had grabbed him by the shoulders and it looked like he was about to be slammed up against his own front door. Eyes were flashing. That might even be some fang he saw there.

"Oh did I insult your loyalty oh Alpha mine?" Sneering was good. Sarcasm was good.

Sarcasm is a perfectly good comfort zone. Sarcasm was actually a vocabulary they could both share.

Derek relinquished his grip on Stiles rather abruptly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "That wasn't an acceptable way to treat a friend. I just want to show you this thing and its hard being…"

Loud laughter erupted and Stiles realized the false sounding noise was coming out of his mouth.

"Friend? It's hard for _you_? What is this, opposite day?"

What was this, grade school insult day? Forget about their shared sarcasm vocabulary.

Ok, one deep breath, count to ten.

"You know what, its' all fine." Stiles leaned forward, and grasped Derek's arm, and attempted to gaze into his eyes sincerely. "I will translate your bones. You will find the baddie monster and slay it. Then we can both go home and eat Taco Bell or whatever."

Derek's arm did the weirdest little twitch.

"I can't go to Taco Bell."

Stiles let out a real peal of laughter this time.

"I can't. I'm on a vegetarian diet." Derek didn't appear to actually be rolling his eyes, but Stiles was fairly sure he was sassing on the inside.

It's a good thing that Stiles father chose this moment to open the door, because this strange new Derek who strained to be sweetness and light, and had possibly even attempted to woo him, was causing Stiles an excessive amount of ... something.

"Stiles. Derek. Get off my porch."

Or maybe not.

Stiles gaped at his dad a little. He hadn't encountered this kind of strict attitude from his father since high school. Well… what was this, high school attitude day?

The Sheriff coughed. "I mean, come inside. Sit down. Do not argue on my porch." He cast his gaze around the front lawn a bit.

Stiles followed his gaze and realized that sure, they still hadn't managed to do the sensible thing for the Stilinski household and obtain a very high hedge that cannot be peered over.

Nodding his head, Stiles pulled Derek by the arm into his house, and pushed him towards the couch. His dad was waiting in the kitchen with arms crossed.

"I'm going to just trust you on this one Stiles. I just hope…."

"It's fine dad." Stiles was firm. "We're all really different now. We're mature."

His dad raised his eyebrows, but relocated to his den, so Stiles took a moment to feel warm at the acknowledgement of his different, mature status. He grabbed two diet sodas from the fridge, (more for him if Derek was going to continue his bizarre eating habits) and pointed at the bag of bones.

"Ok, shoot. I assume you need me to translate these?"

Derek grunted, looked embarrassed, then nodded.

"Well fine, I can probably get it done by tomorrow. Just relax."

"I don't want you to be alone," interjected Derek, brows furrowed. "It's ...it's just important."

Through his snort, Stiles registered that Derek was probably not kidding when he said his random supernatural artifact was important. Well, fine.

"Well fine. I'll have to work on the desktop in my room. It'll be just like old times." Waggling his eyebrows, Stiles gestured at Derek to follow him.

Four hours later, Stiles moaned and rolled off his chair, landed halfway and decided this was nap time.

"Stiles!"

People who manhandled other people had serious issues with anger management and personal boundaries. Stiles would love to continue this argument with Derek once it was awake time, and not nap time. And Derek stopped shaking Stiles's person.

"Stiles! Are you alright? What did it say? Stiles!"

Moaning, Stiles raised up. And then the rest of him fell down. Couldn't people just let him sleep when he was ready.

"…do you seriously just sleep like this?"

Fine. No sleep for the wicked, not yet. He sat up.

"Ok fine. Here's the translation. There will be a gathering, there will be a mage, there will be schism, mage will die."

Derek inhaled sharply and closed his eyes. "Um, Derek? You know this is Elder Futhark written on oracle bones? Like when I told you to google it yourself and you did? I don't think this is a real ancient artifact."

Hazel (esque) eyes opened and stared into his own. "I'm so sorry Stiles."

"No. Nope. Anyone can write up a couple of runes. I'm not going to worry about it."

"But Stiles don't you think this mage could have meant …."

"Me? _Can it_, Trelawney."

Derek looked bemused. Stiles sighed. This felt familiar.

"You're not just googling that one. But fine, call up your weird new vegetarian pack if you must, as long as they don't sparkle at me."

Derek's eyes flashed. "No one will sparkle at you."

"Fine but this problem is yours. Stiles doesn't use magic anymore, remember? It's finished. Stiles's magic juice burnt up too fast."

Well ok, his 'magic juice' was more like the burnt on bottom of a roasting pan, but whatever.

Derek stared at the ground for a long quiet moment, then stood up and took off his shirt.

"Excuse me?"

Derek's hands were now undoing his jeans buttons, and Stiles decided to preserve what was left of Derek's long since departed modesty by turning around.

"I can't do anything about the past Stiles. But I'm just going to sleep here tonight to think about it."

Stiles turned around again to object but found himself staring at a wolf sitting next to a pile of neatly folded clothing. Said wolf sniffed the air, and trotted out of Stiles's room. Probably to go sleep on the couch. Well good. Stiles didn't ever want to have another sleepover with ungrateful werewolves again. Who would be made to clean up their own hair off the Stilinski couch.

Fine. Everything was probably going to be fine.

(Ten years earlier)

Stiles had occasionally attempted to flirt with Derek, but it usually came out as pure sarcasm. He was an awkward teenager, and Derek was a brooding bad boy who seemingly bred leather jackets. Besides, Stiles was on occasion, accused of being of a bit too passionate in his nature. Perhaps enjoying arguments for their own sake, just a bit too much. It wasn't an entirely healthy thing, but it seemed like it usually worked out for him.

Stiles could admit that now.

Now that in the middle of translating a saga recovered from a sunken ship salvaged from off the coast of Beacon Hills, and trading the occasional jibe with Derek, Stiles had now found himself slammed not into a wall or a steering wheel, but his own bed.

He was pinned down by a mass of writhing, yet somehow still grumpy in his intensity, Derek, who had pinned his arms over his head, (oh hell yes), and was apparently trying to excavate his mouth with his tongue.

Sure, Stiles would have liked to have been wooed a little, instead of just suddenly taken in a manly fashion, but the party was a rockin.

"Um that's cool."

"Totally."

….and his friends had come a knocking.

Derek snarled at Scott and Isaac, who had somehow pulled a Derek and entered his room through his window, and tried to shift them around a little. Well that worked. Stiles wouldn't want to be caught looking indecent, not when Isaac was so smirky, and Scott looked much less surprised than Stiles would have thought.

"There's a sea monster rising out of the Beacon Hills river." Boyd had popped up behind Isaac and Scott. Well, this was turning into way too much of a crowd. Stiles felt his ardour cooling rapidly. Derek released his grasp on Stiles and sat up.

"Fine. Forget this," he waved at Stiles' painstaking research, "we're going to have to cut it off before it gets anywhere near the forest."

Derek was up and barking orders as if the taking of Stiles in manly fashion had not just been (hopefully) about to occur. Isaac and Boyd were nodding and (thankfully) ignoring Stiles, while Scott stared at him.

Stiles shook his head.

Scott, blessed friend that he was, began to herd Boyd and Isaac out the window again. No time to waste. Derek picked up his jacked and looked like he was about to leap after them.

Well.

"Um, Derek?"

Derek turned a quarter, so Stiles could only see his profile.

"Can we talk um, after…" his voice trailed off and Stiles began to experience a tightening in his abdomen. Please be because of burritos.

A curt nod was his only answer, before Derek turned to complete his leap out the window.

His spirits lifting Stiles yelled after him, "I think we're going to have a little talk about you learning to be a bit more emotionally available. You need more positive energy in your life Derek."

Yeah, probably Derek heard him. That counted as communication, right?

Car keys were located downstairs. Talk could come later.


End file.
